


The Masked Romancer

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Mysterious, Romance, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: He had married Prince Jun out of gratitude, not love; for his love had been taken by the cruel sands of the desert, years and years ago. Or so he believed. And then one night, in the City of Love, a masked stranger appears, with eyes just like his long lost lover’s.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I am not associated with J&A or Arashi in any way.

_When he was twenty-two, they bathed him in rose oil and imported water of the lily. Sunbeams were laced into the tendrils of his hair and a robe of tender green was pulled across his shoulders like a thin veil over his hardened skin._  
  
_He had learned well, he knew. All the hidden rules, the nonchalant gestures, the give-and-take in the art of seduction, he had absorbed them all, practiced them until they were a second nature to his body, and now, after four years in the House of Candles, he was finally ready._  
  
_“Come,” said the soft voice of Ohno Satoshi. Wordlessly, he slid his hand into the calloused one held out to him and allowed himself to be led out to the main hall. He didn’t look at Ohno. He knew he wouldn’t be able to read anything from his face anyways; Ohno was his mentor, and Ohno had already earned his mask, which was peacock blue and glistened like mercury in the flickering candlelight._  
  
_“I’m going to miss you.” Ohno gave his hand a little squeeze. The music was starting, and the only other person in the hall was rising from his seat and sweeping regally towards them._  
  
_Warmth dissipated from his fingertips as Ohno let go and a new set of hands cupped him by the chin. Instinctively, his eyelids fluttered down as a pair of silken straps wrapped their way around his head. A smooth pad of velvet pressed snugly against his nose and when he finally opened his eyes again, the candlelight was dancing to the rapid quickening of his breaths—_ one, two, three _—and his world was now framed by the borders of a lush green mask._  
  
His _mask._  
  
_The doors swung open and in the dying evening, he could see Ohno hunched sadly by threshold. A puff of dust swirled down in the sunset, and under it Ohno’s body quavered, just like it did at the local masquerade every spring where his voice turned the air into weeping, soul-destroying magic._  
  
_“I’m going to miss you,” Ohno said again, pleadingly._  
  
_“I have a promise to keep,” he replied, thinking of the tawny eyes that lived across the blue water._  
  
_They didn’t touch as he stepped through the doorway, and he knew, as soon as the doors closed behind him, that they would never touch again in this lifetime._  
  
_In his heart, he silently thanked Ohno._  
  
_For letting him go._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

  
Nino can always feel that exact moment when autumn changes over to winter. Something about the wind always gives it away, the flap of tired banners, perhaps, or the scratch of parched willow branches grazing his bedroom window.  
  
Nino hates the winter, hates the nostalgia it brings, the way flurries of snow make his insides curl up in a way he can’t control, so defensively he draws his blankets up to his chin and tries not to look bored as his husband shifts on the other side of their bed, yawning and complaining about the lack of blossoms on his bonsai.  
  
It’s already mid-morning, but Prince Jun of Matsumoto is one of those men who can afford to wake up at whatever hour he desires. Turning, Nino blinks, half-listening as usual as he watches Jun run his fingers over an exquisite specimen of wintersweet.  
  
“There are barely any buds,” Jun is saying, and his eyes, already big to begin with, widen even more as he leans in to inspect the miniature branches. “The leaves are all gone, and the buds were supposed to erupt a week ago.” He picks up a painted watering can and wets a tiny patch of soil drop by drop. Impassively, Nino notes the way those famous brows furrow and how those dark dots on his lips quiver in concentration.  
  
 _Jun is a beautiful man_ , he thinks. _Perfect, just like everything else in this City._  
  
“I wanted it to flower in time for our anniversary.” Jun seems dismayed. He finally takes his eyes off the tree and looks over to where Nino is still blinking silently in their blankets. The annoyance in his face disappears at once, and he puts aside the watering can to sit back on the bed, one hand reaching over for Nino’s messy hair.  
  
“I’m sorry, I must be boring you again,” he says, smiling down in a way that makes his entire face glow.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.” Cheekily, Nino smiles back and allows himself to be kissed into a sitting position. Jun’s an excellent kisser, he knows, and he can feel himself grow breathless as the tongue pushes through his lips to taste more of his mouth.  
  
“Let’s- let’s have breakfast,” he pants hastily, breaking it off before anything more could happen. Jun’s chest is already half bare and his hands are roaming down towards dangerous regions, but Nino knows that his husband’s too much of a gentleman to make him do anything, even if it’s been a whole week since they were last intimate.  
  
Sure enough, Jun relaxes his grip. If he’s disappointed, he shows none of it on his face.  
  
“Sure,” he agrees readily and gives Nino a decidedly platonic pat on the shoulder. “I’ll go see if it’s ready.” He chuckles good-naturedly and rebuttons his sleeping gown, both feet already searching the floor for his slippers.  
  
Soon, the door to their bedchamber closes, and Nino heaves a sigh, looking out at the willows that now hang quietly beside the window.  
  
Jun is a good man, he knows. Handsome, gallant, full of strength and light.  
  
He’s just not the man that Nino loves.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The party is splendid, as always. Chandeliers of crystal, rose petals fluttering from the ceiling, music that wafts out of the walls like perfume— Jun always knows how to put on a good show, and the royal Matsumoto Estate has long been known among socialites as the oldest and most prestigious venue for affairs of substance.  
  
Nino drains his second glass of wine, the ring on his finger knocking dully against the stem. _Affairs of substance, huh._ He supposes his marriage to Jun counts as such, and the two year anniversary they’re currently celebrating will probably keep this amorous City bustling merrily for at least the next month.  
  
 _Substance._  
  
He smiles at a couple of guests who catch his eye and pours himself another glass.  
  
Everything tonight is for him, he knows. The bows of gold, the towers of ice. The scented candles waiting in their bedchamber upstairs. Jun really loves him, he thinks with dull guilt.  
  
 _Jun deserves to be happy._  
  
The willows outside are swaying languidly. The hour has come. He lets Jun press a warm kiss to his cheek and smiles as his mind wanders out the window and into the moonlit boughs. The guests are clapping appreciatively and Jun’s lips are closing in for the real thing now.  
  
Obediently, Nino turns his chin up.  
  
 _“We are the golden couple, you and I, and together we’ll rule this City of Love.”_  
  
The guests have fallen quiet and Jun’s servants adjust the curtain shades to form a rosy ambiance for this moment, but as their lips meet, Nino’s eyes pierce through the fluttering petals and a smoldering gaze meets them. There is a man outside the window, he realizes in shock. For a second, the intensity of that gaze holds him captive and the strange eyes burn coolly, framed by a mask of emerald and dusk pearls.  
  
And then Jun’s tongue invades his mouth, demanding his full attention.  
  
When their lips part, Nino glances once again out the window, but the eyes are already gone and only the wind remains, playfully tickling the willow trees.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The next morning, all of Prince Jun’s advisors agree that the party was a great success.  
  
Nino blinks as an attendant clears away his teacup. Delicate little thing, he muses. Everything about this City of Love is so exactingly delicate. Their teacups clink like virgin bells and their lampshades glow with lavender dust. Wisteria tendrils are carved into the stem of the table before them, and one of Jun’s advisors is seated on the other side, droning lyrically about the municipal state following their anniversary.  
  
“Congratulations, your Highnesses.” The advisor is smiling like a proud father. “The City flourishes with the flourishing love of her Prince. There are even rumors that a Masked Romancer will soon bless us with his presence.”  
  
Handsomely, Jun smiles back and places a ringed hand over Nino’s; his eyes are sparkling in that perfect way that only Jun’s eyes can sparkle.  
  
“We are glad the citizens of Love continue to embrace our union,” he replies radiantly.  
  
The advisor bows deeply, delighted by the subtle show of affection, and takes his leave, undoubtedly to wax poetry over the romantic gestures of their Prince and his fair-faced husband.  
  
Nino doesn’t move as the door closes and Jun sighs, removing his hand.  
  
“I think I’ll go to bed soon,” he says gently.  
  
“Okay.” Nino wishes he could look his husband in the eye. It’s not like he doesn’t catch the invitation in Jun’s words; it’s just the winter. He’s always had trouble battling the drip-drip of memories when the same cold pierces through his bones. All the pain comes flooding back: the withered springs, the sun-cracked fields, the rough sand cutting like tiny shards of glass in the wind. _The next sandstorm will be our last_ , his father had said, right before placing the royal ring into his teenage fingers. _You must leave the desert now._  
  
The shacks on the outskirts had been the first to sink. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.  
  
Outside, the darkness is deepening and the willows hang still and listless. With a chuckle, Jun stands up and gives him a light pat on the head.  
  
“I’ll wait for you inside.”  
  
Guiltily, Nino nods. Jun is always so gentle and understanding.  
  
 _Tonight, then_. Nino closes his eyes and tries to think only of Jun’s darkly handsome eyes against summer lavender fields.  
  
Tonight, he will be a good consort and sleep with his face turned towards his Prince, and Jun will make love to him with the curtains floating open.  
  
A tiny gale brushes the first frosts from the windowsill and the willows sway grudgingly to lap against the wall. Is he just imagining things, or is there a flutter of a man’s cloak among the whispering leaves? Nino’s eyes snap open, only to find starlight and shadow, and frost sinking slowly into his sleeves.  
  
 _Tonight_ , he sighs, and turns away from the window.  
  
Jun is waiting for him, after all.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
